


Before

by RatKingDad



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 05:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17616608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatKingDad/pseuds/RatKingDad
Summary: Beau is used to leaving and being left, but maybe she isn't so used to it anymore. Not now that she has a family that is.





	Before

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic so be kind please!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr; @kinglouisthefourteenth

Beau was something strong. Unshakeable. So why now was she shivering and hesitating? 

_You’re just checking up on them and then you’ll leave. You can always leave._

Leaving was something she had had to get used to. 

Edgar Lionett had left Beauregard before he even realized it. He had abandoned her the second she did not come into the world as the son he had wanted. The son he had been promised. Beauregard's name was chosen for her long before she was born. Edgar was a young businessman at the time. The Lionett name was old money and he had hundreds of years of riches behind him. But, Edgar was an ambitious man, and so he wanted to make his own money, despite inheriting enough to not have to lift a finger in his life if he didn’t want to. He was hopeful that his winery would take off and that he would be able to pass a great deal of money onto his future son. Edgar had recently taken a wife in his mentor’s daughter, Samarah Kingston. Samarah was a sweet girl, shy and demure. The proper lady. She would make a lovely wife. Kamordah was full of wide-open fields, perfect for setting up a winery and so that is where he had moved his new family. There was a carnival in town, the weekend they had moved into their new home, or well fortress really. Edgar would spare no expense for his new life. 

Edgar had not often found himself at carnivals through his lifetime. His father had considered them too dirty and rowdy for a respectable young gentleman. Generally, Edgar tried to live by his father’s words, but he figured nothing could go wrong if he went this one time. He had always had an independent streak, occasionally clashing with his parents, but never enough to be cut off of their payroll.As he walked through the lit up the town with his new bride on his arm, Edgar found himself entranced by the flashing lights and overwhelmed by the scents of foods and flowers. He may have gotten completely overwhelmed if not for the comforting weight of Samarah’s hand as she leaned over to a booth to buy him a flower. It was a bright vibrant blue, nearly matching that of Edgar’s eyes. A great warmth settled over him, and Edgar felt ultimately safe here. That was until a hand grabbed his shoulder. He was spun around to meet the eyes of a tall eleven man, his face painted to look like he was smiling permanently. The effect was unsettling, to say the least. 

“Have you ever wondered about what your future may hold?” The man nearly crooned into Edgar’s ear in a strong Zemnian accent. Edgar, for all his faults, was not an idiot. He knew this man had clearly seen a young couple and decided to take advantage of their uncertainty about the future. He looked to Samarah in a silent request for approval and she nodded slightly against his shoulder in reply.

“How much will it cost?”, Edgar replied, ever the businessman.

“For you? Two silver, ”The still smiling man answered back. For anyone else, this may have seemed far too much for a silly parlor trick, but Edgar had money. Without hesitation, he handed over the coins and was drawn towards a table near the mouth of the circus tent. The elven man began laying out cards and lighting some kind of incense. The smell was sickly sweet and Edgar could feel it coating his throat and wrapping around his lungs.  
A single card was laid in front of him. On it, a skeletal figure in a black robe reached out towards some unseen object.

“The past. Death, new beginnings. You have started a new chapter in your life, you have let go of the past in order to propel yourself into the future”  
Edgar saw leaving his father’s home. He saw himself buying his acres of land. He saw himself marrying Samarah.

Another card, this time a woman wearing a crown with a hand on top of her belly, swollen with child.

“The present. The Empress, nurturing and caring, but stubborn. You are clinging to some fear of something. Or,”and he turned to Samarah, “It could mean fertility and pregnancy”  
Edgar felt his heart stop. A child. He may be having a child. Of course, he would have Samarah looked at by a professional, he wasn’t willing to take the word of any old circus freak, but soon he was imagining Samarah’s stomach swelling over months, imagining seeing a son with Samarah’s beautiful green eyes and his own black hair. Perfect.

A third and final card was laid out. This depicted a man on a throne, a golden crown sat upon his head.  
“The future, The Emporer. A strong and dominating male presence, Confidence, ambition, and success. You will be a great man. Be wary, however, this success may turn you arrogant and careless. Keep those you love safe, keep them close,” The man stated with a harsh finality to his tone. A male presence? A son, he realized. Somehow the warning about arrogance had gone in one ear and out the other, but he did not miss what he felt was the most important part. Protect his family. Protect his name. Protect his son. The son possibly growing inside his wife right now. He would protect him. Keep him close and never let the world hurt him. 

Three months later, it was confirmed. Samarah was pregnant and they would have an heir to the Lionett name. Edgar was practically giddy, constantly kissing her stomach and listening for any sign of life whenever he could get away from his business. He was more successful than ever thought possible. Quickly he was making a name for himself among major winemakers.The Lionett name was more prestigious than ever. A name needed to be chosen for this spark of life. Beauregard, they decided. A strong name for a strong son. It meant “beautiful gaze” and Edgar could only hope that not only would the world look upon his son’s beauty, but that he would look upon the world with beauty in turn. 

Then, Beauregard was not a son at all, but a daughter. At first, Edgar resolved to love her just the same but quickly found that raising a girl was much different than he had envisioned raising a son to be.

At three years old, Beauregard had run away for the first time. She was just a baby of course. She didn’t understand what she was doing. She ran as far as her little legs could carry her, which was not very far, but impressively further than most three years old girls. Her dad nearly had a heart attack. He searched for hours and hours until Beauregard was found up a tree nearly a quarter of a mile away from the home. This one is fast, he thought. They warned me not to leave her alone, he thought. If she was a boy, this would have no big deal. Little boys were rambunctious and adventurous, little fighter and soldiers. Every little boy ran away. But, Beauregard was to be a proper lady. Defiance would not be tolerated. He couldn't protect this little girl if she would not let him. As he looked upon the torn edges of the ornate gown that Beauregard's mother had been attempting to put her in before she bolted out of the door, Edgar Lionett knew that his daughter would always pose a problem. He would keep her locked up, to protect her, to keep her safe. Edgar thought his daughter should be like a fine statue, keep behind a locked door, only to be admired, never to be touched.

He had raised her with this mindset and that was his unforgivable sin. He tried to smooth out her edges before she had them and so only roughened her up. It started with simple deficiencies. She would only wear a dress if it was for a formal event. Then, she refused to wear a dress at all, something that made Samarah Lionett crazy. Soon, Beauregard was no longer Beauregard. She was Beau, she said. Beau. Saying the name felt like spitting poison off his tongue. Edgar much preferred Beauregard. When he said it, he could pretend that maybe she was the boy that the carnival man had promised. At some point he had come to the realization that his daughter would never be anything like what he needed or wanted for the family name. He made this no secret to Beau though, he couldn’t with a distaste so obvious. She never wished that she was a boy, but she knew that the fact that she was a girl was a horrible crime in her parent’s eyes. Beau knew they were frustrated with her, she knew she was a fuck-up, that she wasn’t what they wanted, that she wasn’t what anyone wanted. She almost felt bad for her parents. Even if they couldn’t have gotten a boy, why did they have to get a defective girl, like her, who could never be what she needed to be?

At 13, Beau ran away for the second time. She had been involved with smuggling for at least a year now, but she really messed up this time. A conflict with a “client” had gotten violent and Beau had found herself on the wrong end of a blade. There was a long cut up her torso, slowly oozing blood, dangerous but not deadly, and she couldn’t trust the family cleric to not report her instantly to the intimidating figure that was the Head of the Lionett household. Her father would find out. He would find out and he would lock her up and never let her out. No matter how gilded, a cage is still a cage. Beau was never meant to be locked up. She was born with roaring fire in her veins and stinging acid on her tongue and she was constantly moving and fighting and all she ever wanted was to keep running and never look back or stop. No matter how hard her parents tried to form her into a proper lady of her status, Beau was too brass and too loud and took up too much space and too much air. She wore pants and she tore up dresses and dolls and thought the perfume sprayed on all of her fucking clothes was disgusting. Flowers were shit and they were meant for someone who did not stick out in all places like a puzzle piece being shoved into the wrong place. So now she was doing just that, running and not looking back. 

This plan, of course, didn’t work out. Apparently, a girl of notable status running through the town was some cause for concern among the citizens of Kamordah. She was quickly brought back to her father and braced herself as she waited in his study for him to arrive from a meeting where he was arranging a shipment to the coast of a couple dozen cases of Lionett’s Finest wine. Her father was a disciplined man. He did not scream nor did his face go red or his veins pop the way Beau’s did inevitably every time her temper flared.

“This can never happen again, you understand,” he said, pacing around the room. Beau’s head span as she tried to follow her father’s movement. “I have never been more embarrassed. People are going to think one of two things, they are either going to think that I am abusing or torturing you, a horrible untruth that would ruin me, ” Was it so untrue? “Or they are going to think the truth. You are ungrateful, Beauregard”, she flinched at her full name, a name meant for a boy, for someone who was not her, “I have given you the world and you have spit in my face. Is the world not enough for you? No. I think the truth is that you are not enough for the world. And you know this, Beauregard. Otherwise, you would not defy me so. You think you have to fight for a place in the world but the truth is, you already have a place and you seem to spend all of your energy trying to leave it. Your place is here, at the winery, with your mother and I. Now, stop bleeding on my armchair and see Marianna, ”Here, her father’s eyes flashed in concern, real concern, and Beau felt that maybe his words were true. He was just a dad trying to protect his daughter, for just a second. Then, his eyes hardened again and that man was gone. Replacing him was a businessman who saw her as nothing more than a liability and at that moment Beau found two truths about herself split between the two fathers she saw before her. She was ungrateful to a dad who was just trying to help her become better and she was a fuck-up to a father who she could ruin with her stupid fucking actions. 

When she was 17, Beau left again, though not by choice this time.  
She was pacing as she normally did when something was on her mind. Or when nothing was on her mind. Frankly, Beau went crazy when not in motion. Her thoughts were constantly racing and found it hard to pay attention to much that happened around her unless it directly related to her “work”. If she didn't keep focused when smuggling or any of the other activities that she had taken too, the price to pay would be far steeper than just her father's scolding at not paying attention to her numbers lessons. Today there actually was something to think about, though. Her father had been quiet lately. Too quiet. He said nothing at her five-day-old eyeliner, nor about how she wore loose and unflattering clothing. Mother still squawked and chirped at her appearance, but it seemed that maybe Father had given up. Beau didn’t know what was worse, her father’s constant disapproval and criticism, or his silence. She had even tried to start conversation herself, only to be quickly rebuffed.

“I have important work to do” He would wave her off with, or, “I’m meeting with someone very important in a few minutes,”. Beau did not miss the implication that she was not an important person or thing to her father. She did not miss how the people he met with were never ones he would name. Normally, Father would take any opportunity to name drop and gloat, but on these people, he had been oddly cagey about giving any information as to their identity. She felt like a fucking bomb was ticking and soon it would go off. Soon everything would blow up and Beau had no idea what would be in the wreckage, but she had a feeling she would be among the debris. 

Then the timer ran out. In her circular path of walking back and forth was the main chamber where she spent any time that she was forced to be with her family. Beau stuck her head in and saw no one sitting in the large chairs or by the unlit fireplace. As she took a step, however, Beau found herself ambushed. Dark figures wrapped arms around her and soon she found herself tackled to the ground. Her head was violently jerked up to meet the now illuminated eyes of her father. Beau's eyes had always filled with fire easily on their own. Her father's however, were normally stony and yet here they reflected the fire place so well that for a second Beau wondered if maybe her and her father were more similar than she thought, a terrifying possibility. He leaned down slightly down to look her in the eye, that same soft real concern she had seen as a young teen flashed for just a second on his face, so quickly that Beau still doubted years later whether it had been there at all. Her mouth was gagged and she choked and screamed but little sound came out. She was fucking crying. She fucking hated crying, especially in front of people who didn’t deserve her damn tears but, dammit she was only a child and she was so scared and so hurt and she wanted her mom and dad except they were the ones who had done this. Beau caught her mother’s eye as she hid behind her father. Her mother was not a strong woman, bent easily in the iron will of father. Her father had had her kidnapped. She would be no help. And so Beau did want she did best and she tried to run away. She had tried to fight off those stupid fucking monks but they were trained and ripped as hell and as much as Beau could swing wildly, she was not trained for this. 

When Beau was 20, she ran away for the last time. Her father had been wrong about the monks. They were historians yes, but they were also warriors and it seems that Father had thought that they would only find use for her in the library part. They tried to teach her discipline, yes. They tried to teach her book filing and history and languages. Beau, admittedly, didn’t find these lessons completely useless. She learned how to get the information she needed out of the bullshit she was being told. Learning Deep Speech was something that she would years down the line claim to be something she did out of boredom, but maybe, maybe she find out it a little interesting. She remembered the exact moment that she decided it was time to leave.

Beau’s mouth filled with blood and the coppery flavor was familiar, almost comforting. She tried to swallow it, to gain back some semblance of her dignity, but that only caused her to cough and choke and sputter more. The blood dripped out of her mouth without her permission and her instructor of the week (none could tolerate her any longer than that) tutted above her.

“You can’t just swing blindly, Beauregard,” Fucking Beauregard, the name spat with the same venom as her father always did, “You need to conserve your energy, your anger. Control it. Your fury is as much a weapon as your fists or your staff, but only if you learn how to use it. Spend it like currency”, The staff was something she had only gained three months ago. They had given it to her when she had been found punching her knuckles into bloody messes against a wall in the monastery. A failure. That’s what she was. It’s what she would always be. A failure to her father and to her trainers and to anyone who would ever meet her. She would never be one of these monk’s. They knew themselves, they could control their emotions and bodies in a way Beau could not comprehend. And you know what? Fuck them. They didn’t know her. They didn’t want to know her. Beau was blood and bile and gnashing teeth and flailing fists and she would never be Beauregard with soft blue uniforms and controlled fury and libraries and incense. 

Then the letter came, that damned thing. Her parent finally had a son and they did not need this walking trash pile calling itself their daughter anymore. They gave her no details on her brothers name or the date of his birth or his height and weight and Beau felt another shred of her heart break. She didn’t need it anyways. Beau was resolved to never need love or validation because she would never get it and that’s just the way she had been built. You can’t build a beautiful house on cracked foundations and Beau knew she was more shattered than cracked so fuck idioms anyways.

That night she packed what few possessions she had and ran as far away from Zadash as she possibly could, stopping for some supplies (mostly dried meat and booze) and "company" at one of many establishments in the city that offered said services on the way. By the time the sun rose in the morning, Beau was far south enough that she felt secure in the fact that none of the monks would go looking for her. Certainly, they didn't care enough to actually bother to chase a person who had spent three years completely failing to be taught their ways.

So yeah, Beau had now failed two groups of people.

Life- 2, Beau-0

Then, when Beau was 23 her whole life changed.

It had started off simple enough. A job for some fisherman in Trostenwald, fighting a snake for his daughter. Nothing more than she had done before.

But then there was the two people doing the job with her. They were traveling to some magic academy (She could act like she had never heard of it, but she had because she listened and learned from the people she sold wine to and then the monks and the library patrons and the people she had been getting mercenary jobs from). 

The half-orc man was interesting enough. He was shy and unsure of his seemingly new powers, but at the same time naturally fell into leading the trio. Fjord, he said his name was in a drawl that made him seem sweeter than the falchion he could summon from midair should allow him to be. He was, objectively, quite handsome, though obviously not Beau’s type, and he easily charmed them into a couple cheap rooms for the night. Later, he helped her to not be such an asshole and she would be privy to his blossoming as a warlock. As they boarded a ship, Beau truly saw Fjord in his prime of leadership and power and childlike wonder all wrapped into one person and Beau wonders how this man has become a brother, more family than her real family. Perhaps that’s why it hurt so much when he told her that she could only get one family. Because why couldn't he see that she didn't want that family, that blood meant nothing to her because when she thought about her father she could feel their shared blood burning like acid through her veins like it was poisoned or like it wasn't meant for her? Why didn’t he love her? These thoughts were unfounded she knew, but that old familiar mantra of _worthless,unlovable,asshole_ creeped slowly in. Later, when Beau says “ Can I be your first mate?” she means _Let me prove myself to you _or _Let me help you_ or _Please find value in me_ and when Fjord agrees and begins to show her the ropes (literally and figuratively) it feels like he heard.__

____

____

The tiefling was something else entirely. Bubbly and fun and seemingly determined to make Beau smile no matter how determined she was to scowl through this job without getting attached, and beautiful. Her voice was a contrast to Fjord’s, not smooth and dark but lilting with odd inflections and a bright tone and and even brighter laugh. Jester, and gods how fitting. A virtue name that the woman gave herself, determined to spend her life making other happy and Beau’s first thought is not _How noble_ or _How beautiful_ but _How tragic to waste your life trying to help other people when you should only be concerned about yourself_ . Later, Jester will be the first person that she says “ I love you” to and certainly the first to respond in kind. Beau would eventually see that she was half right and maybe Jester should look after herself more often, but she loved the way that Jester always tried to lighten the mood among their group of broken edges roughly glued into the frame of a broken family portrait. Later, Beau would say, “Motion sickness?” and she would mean _Take the burden of caring off of your shoulder and onto mine_ or _Let me into that wonderful mind of yours and show me edges that are just as broken as anyone else's_ or _Let me soothe those edges until they are gone and you are as happy and peaceful as you deserve_ and when Jester wraps her arms around Beau from behind it feels like she heard.

And then they meet Caleb and Nott. 

Caleb who calls her Beauregard but its soft and accented and respectful and anything other than venomous. She finds that she can not find it in herself to hate the sound when she’s looking into broken blue eyes and shaggy red hair. Caleb is her greatest risk. He wants to leave. Just like Beau always has. He opens up to her in a way that no one has ever treated her with information anymore. But Caleb sees the intelligent part of Beau, hungry for information in the same way he is, but through secrets not books. He sees how giving her the knowledge she wishes for will get him the knowledge he wants (and of course he was only telling her so he could get into the Archives but why did it still sting). Caleb would prove to be another person to love in a dark field in a dark place when she felt the cold sting of grief in her chest and he helped to guide what was left of their group (Three not four never four again and its Beau’s fault and she just wants to scream and punch and fuck and drink) to reclaim the others. When he yells at her outside a wizard’s tower and she yells back it feels like yelling at her father and neither of them can hear each other. But then, Caleb apologizes which her father never would have done and she comforts him which she never would have done before. Later when they’re in Felderwin and she begs,“Don’t run”, she means _Don’t leave me please_ or _I want to take care of you_ or _I love you_ or a whole shit ton of words that she has never learned how to say to people like Caleb and herself (because Ioun forgive her they are so similar) but, when Caleb nods his head and mumbles quiet, "Okay", it feels a lot like he heard her.

Nott is more odd. She somehow trusts Beau even less than Caleb and that’s saying something. Nott’s trust is not a thing easily won and honestly Beau respects that. And when Nott makes her promise to protect Caleb she does it without hesitation because who is she to take another child away from their mother.(She does not admit that it feels like she stole her mother’s first son by being born). So she does what she can to help Nott, but feels her scorn at every turn. When Nott shoots a crossbow bolt into her ribs just to see Caduceus heal it feels no more or less painful that her mother shooting glares at her across long banquet tables for being too loud and garish and happy. When Nott calls her a failure and a fuck up she knows that she is not wrong and when she calls her ugly she knows it shouldn’t hurt the way it does because Beau isn’t supposed to care about her appearance (Except she does and she knows she’s unpleasant to look at because that’s what her mother always told her) and she knows that Nott doesn’t mean it, is only defending Caleb, but that doesn't make it any less hurtful. The pain is only relieved by Jester’s insistence that it isn’t true and that Beau is instead beautiful and how the pun doesn't not esacpe her, nor does Jester's blush when she blows a kiss back. Then, Nott has a real son and she isn’t even a goblin and this is too fucking much. In the cavern, Beau sees Nott collapse in the flames and can only imagine a son without his mother, her brother wihtout her mother, and Caleb without his caretaker, and she runs into the fire not caring about her vaporizing arms wraps or her blistering arms. When Beau says “ Do you want to be called Veth?” she means _I love you even if neither of us are ready for that yet_ or _I have protected your sons and I’m gonna protect your husband and I’m gonna protect you too_ or _I see you Nott the Brave or Veth Bernatto or whatever you wish to be_ and when Nott responds, "Not until I'm me again", it feels a lot like she heard all of that.

And there was Molly. Was. There would never be Molly again and who’s fucking fault was that Beau. Molly had come into her life with tarot cards in hand and she fucking hated tarot cards. They stear people in the wrong direction and they tell people they are going to have sons and then they have daughter who they scold and send away and try to fit into molds that she will never fit into. Molly was determined to leave places better than he found them and at first Beau thought it was ridiculous. Molly is functionally a fucking infant and how can he even know what the world is like with only two years of experience with it. Then, Molly was dead and Beau wasn’t a place but he had certainly left her better than he found her. She took what he taught her and became something to be proud of. Before, when Beau had said “What if you never had a childhood because your childhood was supposed to be someone else's?” she may have been drugged up, but she meant _Don’t leave me, everyone else has_ or _I need someone like you_ or _I'm so fucking lonely_ and when Molly responded with "Who hurt you?" it almost felt like he heard her. But, clearly he didn’t because weeks later he left her and then she left him, only his coat marking where he used to laugh and breathe.

Caduceus joined them when Molly left. He was not a replacement, no one could replace Molly. Cad was something the whole group needed. He was a rock and and a shelter with tea and kinds words. Beau had never met someone like him who had such a wonderful childhood. She heard his stories of brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers and her heart ached a little for the life she never got to have. So of course it was natural that Cad would want to protect his home from the ever growing corruption, no matter how foreign the concept of attaching oneself to a place was to Beau. On the boat he provided further comfort, the only person to truly acknowledge just how fucking hard Beau was trying to be good at being good. He found her truths refreshing and he let her talk to the wizard because he trusted Beau. Beau thought that maybe she would never be attached to a place like him, but maybe Cad and the rest of the Nein could be her place to anchor. No one has ever trusted her before Cad. She was always too dishonest or too honest and she's adapted to this by learning half truths and how to lie without lying. Later, when Cad points at her to come into the tower with him she hopes her look shows that she means _Thank you for giving me a chance_ or _Thank you for trusting me_ or _Thank you for thinking of my bad parts as good but different parts_ and when he defends her to Nott it sounds a lot like he read her mind.

Yasha of course came with Molly. She was the most painful of them all. She came and left at random intervals and left Beau grasping at air that tasted like ozone in her wake. At first the attraction had only been physical. After all, Beau had never been in a serious relationship of any kind let alone romantic. But, Yasha was more than just some (admittedly mouth watering) arms. She was delicate and gentle with flowers pressed into a book and precise hand shaving Caleb’s face. She was fury and raw power, roaring in battle and tearing enemies in half with black wings unfurled. She was devoted and loyal at the beck and call of her god. Most of all, Yasha was safety. Beau was beginning to realise that those arms weren’t just great to feel but maybe to create a home in. She loved her. Not in the soft way she loved Jester or the testy way she loved Nott, but in a romantic sense and holy shit that’s scary. And Yasha had a wife, a wife who she was committed to until death. Yasha was split in between her burgeoning love for Beau and her every burning love for Zualla, and what kind of a fucking asshole would Beau be to try and get Yasha to pick herself. When she locks eyes with her in battle she doesn’t need words but she means _I will wait for you_ or _I’ll be here when you stop leaving_ or _I love you and I’m afraid of you_ and Yasha only nods in a way that tells Beau that she heard her loud and clear.

All of this has lead her to where she is now, standing outside of her parent’s door way. The Xhorhasian army is coming and they need to know. Her arms shakes and she turns around to see the encouraging faces of her new family. She gets up the resolve she needs and knocks. And this time, she’s not leaving until they listen.


End file.
